


Home is where the heart is

by shanimalew



Series: Fictober 2020 [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Light Angst, Mental Breakdown, Minor Violence, Multi, Revelations, fluff ending, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanimalew/pseuds/shanimalew
Summary: Illya has to return to Russia for a mission with UNCLE. He thinks it'll be exciting to return to his motherland but what he finds, instead, is that he is a very different man from the one that lived there.[Fictober 2020, Day 1]
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller
Series: Fictober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947211
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73





	Home is where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm back! 2020 hit me haaard but I can't miss Fictober, so here we are again. This year I'll write for 2 fandoms, but I still hope you'll like the works and you'll stick around to see if I'll manage to complete the challenge. The prompts are from [Fanwriter.it](https://fanwriters.wordpress.com/) , but translated in English.

**_Prompt 1 Reflection_**

It was surprising to hear that the KGB agreed to have U.N.C.L.E with them for a case. KGB doesn't usually do joint missions, more like never. The mere fact that they allowed Illya to work for an Englishman for this long is already an exception, one Illya doesn’t think they are going to repeat in the future. The risk of one of their agents being deviated by capitalism is too high; only Illya was the perfect candidate for such an experiment. He is too tough to succumb to the avances of capitalism’s fake promises of liberty and happiness.

_They must be desperate,_ Illya thinks to himself, as Waverly tells them the details of their part of the mission.

The news of the joint mission leaves Illya excited to return to his motherland, but also weirdly scared.

When they land in an airport just outside Moscow he can't help smiling at the frozen air that invades his lungs. He lets out a long exhale, seeing how it freezes right in front of him. 

He finally feels home.

He rubs his shoulders, in an attempt to warm his body, but stops as soon as he realises what he is doing. He is Russian and this is March. He should not feel the need to warm himself.

He can’t shake the strange sensation that gesture has left him and silently walks out the plane. It doesn’t help that his companions have been quiet for the entire trip, especially Gaby. 

He knows why she is so quiet, he sees the hidden fear in her eyes and it is justified. He knows what his country does to dissidents, but still, it makes him sad to see her walk onto his motherland's soil with a hand resting anxiously on her tight, close to her hidden knife.

He feels the weight on his heart become heavier as he looks at her walking slightly behind him and closer to Napoleon. He tries to bury his thoughts deep, focusing on finally being able to understand every single word the people around him say.

The weird feeling he has is a bit subdued as he finally hears his companions talk. Obviously complaining about the cold.

"How can I be cold even if we’re inside? Unbelievable" Gaby mumbles.

"Next time I'm gonna ask Waverly to send us to Cuba. If we have to interact with communists I want to be warm and near the ocean" Napoleon replies, but still looking around with an air of excitement as he takes in his surroundings. 

He hooks his arm into Gaby’s and starts talking to her about fake Russian traditions but Illya doesn’t feel like correcting his ignorance, not when he sees Gaby slightly relax next to him. He settles for walking in front of them, scanning the room for the agent they were supposed to meet.

“You are quieter than usual, Peril. I thought returning to mother Russia would have made you more cheerful”

_I thought that too_

“We are on mission, Cowboy, do not forget it”

“But then you wouldn’t have so much fun reminding me”

Illya doesn’t respond, eyes fixed on the horizon. As soon as he sees the KGB agent he advances swiftly.

“доброе утро1, agent Kuryakin” the man salutes him, Illya promptly returns it. “And you must be agent Solo and Miss Teller”

“Agent Teller” she retorts, leaving the man gaping at her. 

Illya allows himself to slightly smile to himself, happy she isn’t completely hiding herself.

“Agents” the man says, emphasising the s and throwing an annoyed look at both his companions. Gaby nods at him as if she’s a teacher satisfied with her student’s progress, while Napoleon smiles cunningly. “I’m agent Plisetsky. Now let us go in more private place to discuss details of mission”

Illya studies the Russian agent thoroughly as he talks about the mission and what each one of them is going to do. It is a simple intel-gathering mission, and Illya doesn’t feel bad for focusing more on the agent than on his words. They are proficient in these types of mission, it will be like bugging Napoleon. A field trip. 

The Russian agent is precise and straightforward, gaze sharp as it moves on each one of them as he discusses their roles. He talks slowly, no word he uses is superfluous, and Illya suspects he exaggerates his Russian accent to remind them where they are and who is in charge. 

It’s unsettling, but so far he is being more collaborative than what Illya was during their first mission together, so he doesn’t complain.

After the briefing he drives them to their accommodation, a house slightly outside the city centre. He first gets out of the car, inspecting the area with his gaze, looking around for immediate threats. He doesn’t recognize the house as one of the official KGB safehouses, although they could have changed them in the time he was away. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that thought, so he decides to bury it and focus on looking around for the bugs the KGB has definitely put. 

“He was strangely nice” Gaby starts, unable to stand the silence that has formed even after he gave them the okay to talk freely. 

The KGB has really outdone itself. He has never found so many bugs in his whole career, but the number confirms him that they are using this mission as also a test for him.

Somehow the only thought elicited by this discovery is that he was lucky he didn’t like reading while on mission; he doesn’t think the KGB would have liked finding his copy of Doctor Zhivago.

“Nice is not the word I’d use for him. Love how the KGB makes all its agents wear a stick up their asses. I wonder how you all can do your jobs when your entire bodies scream KGB from every pore” Napoleon says, meticulously putting his suits in the wardrobe.

Illya has the overwhelming urge to defend himself, but stays quiet. 

“Hope they have stocked the pantry, I’m in the mood for something nice” Napoleon continues, immediately passing over the whole ‘let’s hate on the KGB’ discourse.

“He was not nice, he was studying us. Should not be trusted” Illya says after a while, the need to protect his partners beating the fear of reminding them who he still formally works for.

And indeed, they immediately stop everything they are doing to look at him, as if he had suddenly grown a second head.

Napoleon is looking at him with the unnerving smile of someone who has finally figured out everything, the one Illya wants to punch every single time he sees it.

“He is KGB though…” Gaby almost whispers. He knows she is not that naive and her remark is only for his sake, but it doesn't help him. It only makes him feel weak.

His index starts tapping on his thigh automatically, his vision immediately getting blurred. His mind chanting _Weak_ like when Gaby gets a song stuck in her mind.

“Does not matter” he starts slowly, trying to breathe. “He is KGB and we are UNCLE and KGB never trusts other agency. My presence does not change a thing”

_It may even worsen it,_ he omits.

“Now excuse me I will go control the area” he says, getting out of the house.

The cold air takes his breath away for a minute and he finds himself gasping for air, loudly inhaling. It is invigorating and he finds himself already seeing more clearly, his anger subsiding, although still bubbling under his skin.

_See?_ his mind suggests. _Your body was made for Russia. You need your country._

He clenches repeatedly his fists, wishing he could just smash something, or someone. But he cannot jeopardise the mission. He knows everyone is looking at him, Oleg, Waverly, and even Gaby and Napoleon. Each one waiting for something, a sign that he has misplaced his loyalties, that he is weak, _like his father_ , and needs supervision.

_Or Gulag_

He walks around the house, entering the small warehouse, no doubt they are going to need some firewood for the night. He doesn’t look for other bugs and immediately starts punching the wall, his mind already forgetting the reason why he entered. 

He wants to scream, like always, but he knows discretion is key. They do not need to see him breaking down. He needs to be stoic and efficient, and this is the only slip he will allow himself, so he needs to make it quick and clean.

He starts counting his blows, wanting to stop at 5. However, after the first three his mind becomes too loud and at the same time too quiet, making it difficult to even hear the sound of his fists as they touch the wall. He abruptly stops only when he hears a crack. He stares at the wall, slowly flexing his fists as he stares at the small cracks he created in the bricks. 

He lets out a shaky exhale when he realises the sound came from the wall and not from his hands.

The ache in his knuckles is enough to dissipate the fog in his mind, shifting his attention to the rhythmic pain. 

He straightens his back, fixes his hair and takes some of the firewood, before leaving the warehouse and going to inspect the neighbourhood. 

He returns when the sun has set, the darkness enveloping his figure, causing him to slightly squint his eyes when he opens the door. Napoleon and Gaby are in the kitchen, him cooking something as Gaby sits on the counter looking at Napoleon work, both talking animatedly. However, as soon as they hear the door close they stop, waiting for Illya to appear.

“All clear” he says, and then goes to the bathroom, not allowing himself to see the look of pity they will surely have on.

He rejoins them after a while when they are already seated at the dinner table, an ice pack waiting for him. He silently takes it and begins eating.

He knows they know what happened outside and appreciates their silence, although he can feel Gaby’s hard stare on him. But still, no one talks.

The silence is not entirely uncomfortable for him, he is used to people not knowing what to do with him after witnessing what he is capable of doing. It stings a bit, feeling them observe him like a feral animal, but their stupor is justified. He had a psychotic episode in his motherland, where everyone would have expected him to be somewhat happy, or at home at least. 

And he thought he’d feel like that too, instead of feeling...however he was feeling.

At some point Napoleon finds the silence unbearable and decides to discuss with Gaby the details of their identities, as this time she is playing his wife. He thought he’d feel more jealous, having always played her husband, but he is somewhat relieved that she doesn’t have to put up with him more than necessary, this time preferring to be in the shadow, even though it means being in close contact with agent Plisetsky. 

He hopes working with him is going to be at least a decent experience. God knows all his previous partnered jobs during his KGB years had been complete disasters. He got the job done, obviously, but most of the time he had to fight also against his partner, who thought that sabotaging him or leaving him to die would help him rise in rank faster.

Thinking back to his previous experiences makes him appreciate more what he has now, if not just because they make his job easier, his sleep better and his body more relaxed. Maybe too relaxed, as he keeps playing chess by himself, Gaby and Napoleon’s loud snores as background noises and sleep nowhere in sight. He feels his body heavy with exhaustion but his mind doesn’t let him rest, so he plays and plays until the sun rises, illuminating his chessboard. He continues his game until he sees Napoleon emerge from the bedroom, wrapped in one of his silk robes as he goes straight to the kitchen.

“Coffee, Peril?” he asks, voice still deep from sleep.

When he reaches him in the kitchen he finds a second mug of coffee on the table, as Napoleon quietly drinks his. He pretends not to notice the furtive looks he throws at him.

“Slept well, Cowboy?”

“Surely better than you, Peril” Napoleon rapidly replies, concern barely hidden behind his amused tone.

Illya doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how to, if he has to be honest. He just feels guilty they have to be around him.

“How is this Plisetsky, by the way? Have you worked with him in the past?” Napoleon asks, pushing the conversation back to neutral topics. However, Illya doesn’t miss the concerned looks he sends him every now and then.

"Never, he was too lower rank, and I worked better alone. But I know he is good, gets the job done"

"That was never in question, I wanted to know if he was hard to work with, to use a diplomatic expression"

"He is not me, if that was your concern" he says, when he sees Napoleon slightly open his eyes wider, ready to object, Illya continues "His file does not mention issues with coworkers or superiors. But I would not relax around him, agent that promising is sure ready for promotion, and agents in KGB would do anything for promotion”

“Talking from experience?”

Before he has the time to answer, Gaby walks in the room, eyes still half-closed. And just like that his propensity to talk about his days in Russia passes, as he uses the opportunity to shift the conversation back to the mission ahead.

“It is an easy mission, Illya. We are going to be fine” Gaby will tell him later, hand brushing on his forearm, just before she and Napoleon leave to reach the event the target is supposed to attend.

“Especially if we have our favourite Russain guardian angel watching over us” Napoleon continues, shooting him an amused look. He sees Napoleon’s free hand clench, no doubt wanting to touch him, comfort him like Gaby did. 

God, does he want him to. But Napoleon is a smart man, so he doesn’t do anything, waiting for safer places in which to show his affection.

Illya just nods, watching them leave. As soon as their car gets out of his vision he takes his equipment and goes to meet Plisetsky at their meeting point.

“I have to say, it is an honour to work with you, sir” Plisetsky says in Russian, as he sets up his rifle and Illya prepares his small radio station, tuning with the bugs in both Gaby and Napoleon’s clothes.

“Thank you” he mumbles.

“You are a legend among the cadets, our officials have spent nights telling us stories about your missions. You inspired me to arrive at this level” 

Illya misses the times where his partners just wanted to kill him, wishing this man would stop talking.

“Hope I meet your expectations” is what he says instead, eyes never leaving the radio controls.

“You seem calmer than what they described you as, more human. I heard you killed five men armed to their teeth with your bare hands. I wish I could have witnessed your true abilities, and show mine, instead of this birdwatching mission”

“Providing support to your partners and gathering intel is just as important. Not every mission has to end in a bloodbath”

“We both know this is not the Russian way. We are forced in the rears because Westerns are weak and scared of doing what is necessary”

Illya just watches the man, feeling a mixture of disgust and clarity.

“The KGB needed UNCLE’s expertise in gathering intel without causing a scene. Discretion is fundamental if both agencies want to stop this drug from being produced and distributed worldwide”

“I understand. But don’t tell me you enjoy sitting on a rooftop playing with a radio. It is an insult to your rank and capabilities” Plisetsky continues, now looking at him with a small smile on. As if he is the only one who truly knows Illya.

Illya doesn’t have the guts to tell him tech stuff is what he really loves doing. How satisfied he was when he managed to repair their transmitter during a mission in Alaska, while stuck in a lodge without enough firewood and equipment. 

“It is our job, we cannot question orders” he says, returning to focus his attention to the radio, as he hears Gaby and Napoleon approach their target.

The man accepts his answer with a reverent nod and the respect he emanates almost disgusts Illya, making him feel like one of his supervisors, bathing in undeserved reverence.

And suddenly everything clicks inside of him.

He looks at the man next to him, focused on looking through his gun sight at the event happening in the garden below. Illya hears Gaby’s sensual voice through the radio, as she is faking interest with whatever the target is talking about, but he can’t stop looking at Plisetsky, at his harsh gaze and straight position. 

He remembers when they taught him how to shoot with a sniper rifle. He remembers each moment spent becoming the machine he is today. Each drill, each mission, each body he tortured in their attempt to “channel his disorder into something useful”.

His index starts tapping on his leg and he tries his hardest to focus on Napoleon's suave voice, but he feels his heart rate speed up, his mind invaded by images of his past. The only clear thought in his mind being a single phrase.

_I remember_

He remembers Plisetsky’s look of reverence, the same he had when he was younger, when he could count the number of missions done in one hand. He remembers the nights spent with his comrades, hearing stories of older agents doing everything for their country. He remembers the pride, the desire to be one of them, to wash away the shame that accompanied him every day.

He also remembers the beatings, every night, just when he was ready to fall asleep. He remembers the hatred in his fellow cadets’ words and the pride he felt when he understood they were doing it because they were jealous of him. He remembers beating down one of his comrades to death, just because he had said something offensive about his mother, and because he had broken his nose. 

As the memories flood his mind he shuts his eyes close for a second, loudly inhaling, before opening them again. He focuses his gaze on the equipment, checking if it is still recording Gaby and Napoleon’s conversations since he lost the majority of it.

For the remains of the mission, which he has to give it to Plisetsky it is indeed quite boring, he keeps his gaze fixed on his equipment, unable to look at the agent next to him, answering his questions with monosyllables and grunts. He doesn’t think he can look at the man in the eyes without seeing his face staring back at him. Without seeing a reflection of everything he was, everything he has become.

“Where is agent Solo going?” Plisetsky says, slightly panicked.

Illya calmly looks into his binoculars, seeing Napoleon enter the house and going into the target’s studio.

“He acquired the key to Durov’s studio. He is going to search for documents concerning the drug’s formula and location of the production site”

“I didn’t see him steal the key”

“Solo is good at stealing. And now agent Teller is distracting the target, allowing Solo to get the information, get out of the studio and put the key back without Durov’s noticing a single thing”

Plisetsky doesn’t say anything but Illya hears the silent amazement as his team does just as he described. 

“Intel gathered, ready to get out of here. Meet you at the rendezvous point” Napoleon whispers.

Illya and Plisetsky start packing things up.

After all four of them met at the rendezvous point and exchanged information, Illya feels his companions vibrate with the desire to leave Russia as fast as possible.

“Thank you for your collaboration. We take it from here” Plisetsky says, taking the file from Napoleon’s hand.

“We could help you in the next steps” Gaby interjects, and Illya wants to grab her and shut her up. 

_Do you want to get out of this country or not?_ he wants to ask.

“These were not the agreements. UNCLE agreed to provide support only in initial phase, then agreed to let KGB handle rest. We thank you for your collaboration”

Gaby huffs but accepts the defeat. 

“Pleasure was only ours” Napoleon says, slightly bowing “Do not take it as an offence, but I hope we never have to cross paths ever again, agent Plisetsky”

“Likewise, agent Solo” the man replies, mirroring Napoleon’s wicked smile.

As Napoleon and Gaby start walking away, Illya remains in place, staring at the agent.

“Hope Oleg was satisfied with my performance” he says, subconsciously straightening his back.

“This was not a test, agent Kuryakin” Plisetsky replies, but Illya sees the small nod the man makes, “But as I said, it was a pleasure working with you. Your professionalism and patriotism are enviable”

Illya slightly relaxes his posture.

“I can say the same for you. You are going far, agent Plisetsky. I wish you the best” he says, finding himself truly believing his words. He salutes the agent and joins his companions who are waiting for him.

“Well, that was easy” Gaby says.

“We deserve missions that don’t end with one of us injured or covered in blood. I enjoyed it, reminded me of the old times, where I’d attend galas to steal rich people’s jewellery”

“You’re impossible, Cowboy”

“Admit it, Peril, you love it” Napoleon remarks, at the same time as Gabya asks “Okay, what now?” 

“Waverly said private plane is waiting for us at airport. Order was to go as soon as mission was finished”

“No time to sightsee?” Gaby continues, and he knows her desire to sightsee Moscow is only for his sake. It makes him sad that she cannot see the beauty of his hometown, of his country. 

“No, we have another mission ready” he continues, waiting for the disappointment of leaving his motherland so soon to come, but it never does.

“Oh, I’m sorry Illya” she says sweetly. Illya doesn’t dare to look at her.

“No problem. Mission always comes first”

They arrive at their assigned house and immediately start packing, Illya also packing Napoleon’s suits as the man informs Waverly of their success and imminent departure.

“I see you’ve finally learned how to correctly pack suits, Peril. I’m impressed”

“I always packed them correctly, you just spoiled” Illya retorts, but keeps packing them just as Napoleon wants.

The trip to the airport is quiet, Illya feeling two pairs of eyes always on him, studying him. Gaby tries a couple of times to take his hand, or touch him, but she always changes her mind at the last minute.

Illya pays the taxi driver, thanking him for his service. Then, he thanks the stewards at the airport, as they guide them to their private plane. He tries to engage with as many people as possible, savouring the last moments of hearing his language spoken to him.

They quietly enter the plane, waiting for the captain’s announcement that they are taking off.

He doesn’t realise how tense he was until he feels his entire body relax as the plane starts to take off. He lets out a shaky breath, not noticing he was holding his breath the entire time.

As he takes a deep breath, looking out the window as the airport becomes smaller, he feels both Gaby and Napoleon put their heads on his shoulders. Gaby takes his right hand while Napoleon tightly holds his left thigh.

“What are you feeling is okay, Illyusha. Homes are complicated” Gaby says, and immediately he feels tears form around his eyes at the nickname.

“And sometimes you don’t realise the place you’ve called home your whole life has lost that meaning until you return there. And that is also okay” Napoleon continues, leaving a small kiss on the side of his neck. Illya shudders at the contact. “New York has stopped feeling like home a very long time ago, but I know what you are feeling. It doesn’t mean you repudiate everything it did for you, it just means you’ve grown out of it. You can love something and think it isn’t the best place for you to be”

They both look up at him, who instead keeps his gaze fixed in front of him, afraid that if he met their eyes he’d break.

“It took me a while to realise, but home is supposed to make you feel relaxed and happy, not make you look behind your shoulder every waking moment. London is that for me, I am happy when I walk around the city, but I still miss that little restaurant near my apartment in East Germany. It’s okay to feel both”

“And it’s okay not to find a place” Napoleon continues, drawing small patterns with his finger on Illya’s thigh “I’m not ashamed to say that New York holds a special place in my heart, but that now home is wherever you two are”

“You’re such a sap, Napoleon” Gaby says, eliciting a shaky laugh from Illya. 

“Спасибо” he mumbles, voice thick with unshed tears. 2

“Если хочешь, мы можем быть твоим домом” 3 Napoleon whispers on his skin. 

He is so close that Illya can feel him close his eyes against his shoulder and inhale. It makes Illya’s heart break, forcing Napoleon to be this vulnerable, to have him close his eyes in preparation for a rejection.

Illya looks out the window but sees only clouds, Moscow only a memory. And it’s there, kilometres away from his hometown that he gives himself permission to process his lovers' words. And to admit to himself that Moscow is no more his home, because he is different. He doesn’t think he will ever admit it out loud, mostly because he’s still property of KGB, but he also doesn’t think it is necessary. He knows Gaby and Napoleon know already, they are always more perceptive than him on these matters. 

The man Plisetsky is is a reflection of what Illya is not, not anymore. And that’s why it hurt seeing him. It reminded him of himself, but a himself that somehow has stopped existing, without really warning him. Somehow the blunt instrument in the hands of KGB, the man who walked around Moscow like he owned the place is dead, leaving space to the man who reads prohibited books because his male lover enjoys them, the man who loves playing with radios and technology instead of crushing a man’s skull with his bare hands. A man who loves, period.

He didn’t think he’d ever use that word to describe himself. Never thought he’d found something, someone that would make him feel like a person, and not the machine he was raised to be. 

Suddenly everything is clear, his mind making peace with everything he has become in these past two years.

He kisses Gaby’s head, then Napoleon’s.

“Я думаю, что ты уже, моя любовь” he murmurs. 4

He feels Napoleon let out a shaky breath, as he slowly looks up at him, eyes slightly wet. Illya kisses him gently, wanting to cancel every trace of doubt in Napoleon’s eyes.

“I’m in love with two dorks” Gaby lets out, faking annoyance. “Hey, don’t you think I deserve a kiss too?”

Both him and Napoleon laugh against each other’s mouth not daring to open their eyes, afraid of letting out some treacherous tears.

Illya turns around and also kisses Gaby, feeling her immediately relax against his lips. Her kiss is way shorter, as she interrupts it by grabbing Illya’s face in her small hand. Her eyes are determined as she talks.

“We are not going to let them hurt you anymore, not even indirectly. You are more than what they want you to be”

Illya is ready to object when he feels her grip tighten, forcing him to look straight at her.

“I mean it and you better start believing it too” she gives him a small peck, “Now sleep, Napoleon told me you were up all night”

He nods, knowing better than to argue with Gaby, letting his head fall on her lap. Immediately her hands start playing with his hair, as Napoleon puts Illya’s legs on his, hands mindlessly moving up and down. Both movements are so soothing that it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep. The images of Plisetsky and Moscow slowly dissolving into nothingness, his mind focusing only on the two people around him.

This moment reminds him of when his mum tried to soothe him when he had a nightmare. Her sweet voice singing to him, as her hands massaged his scalp.

Only then, he lets himself believe that maybe they are right. That this, right here, is the closest they all can have to a home. And he feels the luckiest man of Earth.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Good morning  
> [2] Thanks  
> [3] We can be your home, if you want  
> [4] I think you already are, my loves
> 
> Hope you liked this story, this is the first time I've written for this fandom. Leave kudos or comment if you liked it, I want to know what you think!


End file.
